All belongs to JK Rowling. I just like to borrow her toys sometimes.
She put on her outer shell the same way she put on her dress and her makeup. It was all part of the public persona that was supposed to portray to the world that she was okay after the war, that, in fact, she was happy and settled- right where she wanted to be. So it was quite fortunate for her that the war had taught her the fine art of lying, because on the inside, she was from alright.
Hermione lingered a moment before the entrance to the Great Hall and took her time adjusting the sheer, gauzy layers of the emerald green empire waist gown, the color worn for him and the cut worn to hide from everyone else. Quickly she glanced at her reflection in the mirrored panels of the wall, noting that the charm she placed on her cosmetics was working just fine at keeping it in place, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and made her entrance into the Yule Ball.
Severus Snape stood motionless on the dais that was usually crowned with the staff table. Any passerby taking casual notice would have thought him bored and highly irritated to have had to don his black dress robes and attend the festivities. Few would realize that the disguise of ennui and snark covered the way his eyes took in and cataloged all the happened in the room, while an even smaller number would catch the slight hitch in his breathing when she entered the hall.
Hermione accepted a goblet of Elvish wine from a tray as it floated by her and began to make her way through the crowd of people so she would not be accused of being a wall flower. She paused at Harry and Ginny's table, watching them for a moment and envying their happiness. They had been married shortly after the final battle and Ginny was already ripe with their first child. After giving the couple stiff embraces and all of the small talk she could muster, Hermione moved on not wanting her mind to linger on how much more broken the war seemed to have made her compared to her friends. As she wandered through the room sipping her wine and mentally calculating just how much longer she had to attend to Ball to seem proper, she surreptitiously glanced at her former professor stationed menacingly at the front of the hall. When she figured that she had put in enough of an appearance, she made her way towards the doors, pausing only to give Professor Snape the slightest of nods.
Snape had watched Miss Granger as she flitted about the room. To him, she seemed to float about in that swirl of Slytherin green material, every movement of her body mesmerizing. He could have watched her all evening but was acutely aware of awaited him later in the night. When he saw her small tilt of her head directed at him, it was everything he could do not to run after her. Instead, he stepped down from the dais and stalked towards Minerva and Flitwick, interrupting their conversation to say he was headed back to the dungeons and mumble something about a headache and a potion. He waited for no reply from old Scottish witch but simply strode out of the room, black robes billowing behind him.
Hermione removed her heels and began to walk slowly towards the dungeon knowing that his much longer legs would soon catch him up to her. Within minutes, she felt his presence, dark and masculine, looming behind her. They said no words to one another, simply continued on their path, anticipating the freedom that would come once they were safely behind the warded doors of Snape's quarters.
Hermione felt the slight give of his wards as Snape ushered her into his rooms and then heard the soft click of the door behind her. In an instant she had turned around and launched herself into his arms, beginning a clash of teeth and tongues and fervent hands. Her name on Severus' lips was beautiful, a magical combination of silk and gravel; his name a desperate prayer on hers. They stumbled as one out of his entrance way, backing her up against the wall of his study. In one motion, he lifted her slight frame and sank himself into her wetness, thrusting over and over again in want and need and desire. She reveled in the heat and strength of him, forgetting to think, allowing herself only to feel. In the end, she cried out her release only moments before she felt him let go and pour into her and they sank to the floor together.
Severus wrapped Hermione in his arms and covered them with a blanket charmed from his hastily discarded robe. He would have liked to ensconce her in his bed, to wake up in the morning with the witch still beside him, but he knew if he spoke or made to move she would dress and leave. Knowing this he took what comfort he could in her presence, nearly holding his breath that she would stay and extend the time he could simply be and let go of his spy facade.
As she came down from the thrill of her release, Hermione allowed herself a short respite to settle into the warmth of Severus, her thoughts drifting. She knew that as long as she stayed in his silent embrace, she could forget the scars and the relentless hurt of the war but that as soon as a word was spoken between them, the relief would be broken.
It was Severus that spoke first, entreating her to please stay the night with him but, as always, as soon as he uttered the words, he could feel her begin to pull away and put the steel of her public persona back in place. Suddenly, something in him snapped. He was up and within a few strides had blocked her exit with his body. She demanded he move, trying first with her voice as cold and hard as stone and then by ranting and pacing. He watched her through all of this, never saying a word, but the instant she drew close enough, his arms were around her, forcing her to him. She was yelling, struggling in her tantrum but he held her all the more and she began to relax, eventually going slack. He let his back slide down the door, dragging Hermione with him onto his lap, telling her over and over again that she was safe here with him, that she could take comfort in him as he did her. Finally as her tears stopped and began to dry, he could feel her body meld to his and he again asked her to stay. She looked up at him then, eyes red and hair and makeup completely disheveled, and as her eyes met his, she gave a quiet nod of acquiescence. Somewhere inside she knew that with this man and in these rooms she could truly be free of the mask she forced upon herself. He carried her into the bedroom and placed her in his bed, in turn crawling into his side and extinguishing the candle. As he slipped in beside her, he felt for her hand and grasped it lightly, bringing it to his lips and brushing them gently across her knuckles. Some minutes later, as Hermione heard the slight change in his breathing indicating sleep, she turned towards him and whispered "Goodnight Severus".